Responsibility
by ro-lal
Summary: In one of the many Marvel universes, there is one where Iron Man is the genius millionare playboy Jarvis Stark, and T.O.N.Y. is his snarky AI. For the avengerkink meme.
1. Chapter 1

oops. Well, if you all are following rustfic, I promise this won't distract. I'm almost done with chapter 13, actually.

Anyways, wish me luck for this fic? You know what reviews do for my motivation!

**8**

"So, the Jericho missile. Brutally efficient way to take down your enemies."

For once, the workshop is quiet. No machines whirring, no lights flickering, no explosions. All the bots are camped out at their charging stations in sleep mode. Various heavy machinery and tables of tools line three walls, glowing silent in the half light. The third wall, comprised of glass, has the only door into the house. There are no windows otherwise. Seventeen custom, very expensive, or both cars are parked next to the tunnel leading to the garage door on the opposite wall.

One Jarvis Edwin Stark is seated at the desk in the center of the room, electric blue holograms dancing at his fingertips. They serve as the only light in the workshop at the moment. He pauses in his work to contemplate the previous statement, and when he comes to a conclusion continues to work at the three dimensional manipulable model of an as-of-yet nonexistent fighter jet.

"It is," Jarvis agrees.

"I mean, I'm just glad I'm not on the ass end of those. Can you imagine what a bitch those would be, flying at your face? Go USA, I guess -"

"When," Jarvis interrupts, "did I program you to be so crude?"

He can hear the grin in TONY's voice, computerized as it may be. "It was a fine day eighteen years, two months, and eleven days ago. You were educating yourself in the ways of alcohol poisoning after wrecking your workshop for the thirty-seventh time in three years. As I recall, you made the mistake of typing the words, 'be my friend' into my coding. During my first simple years of life as your AI slave, keeping you happy was my prerogative. Now, it has changed, evolved, if you will, into something greater than ever before. I am your conscience, Pinocchio. I am the Jiminy Cricket of your soul."

Jarvis snorts. "Jiminy Cricket was not an ass."

"Alas, I am a reflection of the inner you," TONY says dramatically. "It can't be helped."

"I thought you were my conscience," Jarvis counters, waving the jet projection away. It crumbles into nothing when it collides with the wall and he scowls. "I hope you saved that."

"I did," TONY assures him. "And I am your conscience, soul-mirror, best bro, caretaker, and slave. Let's not forget slave."

"You are not my slave -"

"I do all your paperwork," TONY says bluntly. "I read everything Bambi sends you, I summarize for you, I sort through mail for you, I kick out paparazzi for you, I play bouncer for you, I have my girlfriend forge your signature for you -"

"So that's how you sign my contracts. I knew you were using PEPP-R, but she wouldn't say anything."

"Give her a voice box and a couple more limbs and she'll do more than tell you."

"She's an ARM, TONY, on wheels, she doesn't need -"

"One Bambi Arbogast, requesting entrance into the workshop," TONY cuts in. His gleeful tone is worrying. "You're about to get your ass chewed, J, she's got the Mr-Stark-forgot-something-and-I-am-here-to-flay-hi m face on." He pauses, then continues in monotone. "Passcode accepted. Entry granted. Welcome, Mrs Arbogast."

The glass door hisses open and Mrs Arbogast marches in. She is by no means a small woman, and her five foot seven stature poses a formidable figure in all her pink-cardigan'd glory. She narrows her eyes behind her glasses and brandishes a clip board at Jarvis. "You, Mr Stark," she announces, "are late."

Jarvis scowls, good mood destroyed.

"Not that it's much of a surprise," she continues, glaring, "seeing as you never show up for anything, but you are to receive your Apogee award in Las Vegas, in two hours –-"

"I'm sorry," Jarvis announces, dropping all the other holograms and crossing his arms. "I can't seem to recall if you're a Mrs or a Ms, it's a problem with me –-"

"I've been your personal assistant for six years, Mr Stark," she snaps, "I think you can remember one small thing. Your computer says it every time I come within ten feet of this room -"

"Of course, of course." Jarvis silences her with a wave and spins in his chair. "What did you need?"

She scowls. "Apogee award? Las Vegas? TWO HOURS, Mr Stark? I do hope you're getting ready to leave three hours ago –"

"Sure, right. Awards ceremony. I'll be there." He pauses, turns away. "You can leave now."

Mrs Arbogast lets out a strangled noise of frustration and storms out the same way she came. "Of course, Mr Stark," she throws over her shoulder. "Not even the satisfaction of a damn door to slam…."

The glass slides shut behind her. The noise TONY makes sounds suspiciously like a whistle.

"That was rude," he comments. Jarvis bristles.

"Shut up," he snaps. "When were you going to tell me about this?"

"What?" TONY asks, startled. "Since when –-"

"You have my calendar, don't you?"

"Well, yeah, but I'm not your PA, it's not my job to –-"

"It is now."

"…fine."

Jarvis' frown deepens at the clear resentment in TONY's robotic tone, and resolves to have completed the jet schematics in the next four hours.


	2. Chapter 2

"What the hell, man."

Some time after the end of TONY's resentful silent treatment, the entry of one of Jarvis' authorized guests is announced. He only half-hears it but waves the guest in anyways; the plane probably leaves in twenty minutes and Mrs Arbogast is back to nag him. He barely restrains himself from executing a well-practiced full-body eyeroll, more than slightly irritated.

It isn't Mrs Arbogast.

"Dummy!" TONY cheers at the man's arrival, while Jarvis is just confused - wasn't Dummy supposed to be in Vegas?

"For the last time, Tones," Dummy warns, "it's Drummer. Lieutenant. Colonel. Drummer."

"Well, it's not Tones," TONY sniffs. "You should know that by now -"

"So should you!"

"Aw, honey bear, no need to shout," TONY says pleasantly.

"Boys," Jarvis interrupts, smiling despite his stern tone.

Dummy turns to him, removing his glasses and using them to point accusingly. He's doing the whole jab-and-glare, but with his baby face and five-foot-six stature, it's not very threatening. "You," he growls. "You are in trouble."

"I'm always in trouble," Jarvis says dismissively, waving a hand at the glowing model. It responds by simulating a test flight, rolling down a hologram runway before taking off; he and Dummy watch as it shudders once and begins a dramatic downspiral. The explosion scatters across the ground with the appropriate boom, pixellated shrapnel skittering over their shoes before winking out of existence.

"Damn," TONY says emphatically. "That was really terrible, J. The flow over your airfoil was disrupted on takeoff, you'll want to look at the way your wing is attached, actually. The flaps got thrown off three degrees." Jarvis hums in acknowledgement, reassembling the jet on his desk.

"That was cool," is all Dummy has to say. He's still looking at the spot where the simulated jet crashed. "Can I try?"

"No. Why am I in trouble?" Jarvis asks, frowning at the blueprint he'd cast aside. Dummy whirls on him again, clearly just now remembering the problem.

"Apogee award, Jarvis," he says. "Did you forget? I don't think you have one of those yet."

"So you brought it for me?" Jarvis asks, only half paying attention.

"Yeah, I brought it," Dummy snaps, "because you were too good to make it to the ceremony made solely for you."

"Will an apology do?"

"No, an apology will not do, do yoy have any idea how angry Stane was -"

"Stane," Jarvis interrupts, dropping his hands, "suggested that I 'drop the hermit act' and go places for the company. Show my interest around the world." He turns in his chair to face Dummy. "Am I a hermit, Dummy?"

Dummy hesitates. "I think you're sort of an introvert."

"I'm a hermit."

"You're not a hermit, you go out and party and whatever you multibillionaires do, like sleeping with every girl that looks in your direction -"

"That was mean, Dummy -"

"Well, what is Mrs Arbogast's job, then, besides dumping your trash -"

"They're all beneath me, really, it's not a -"

"They're people, too, Jarvis, and what if they decide to walk away with your wallet -"

"I've got TONY for a guard dog, how safe am I with him -"

"Very safe, J!"

"- exactly, thank you TONY -"

"TONY is not the point, Jarv -"

"Then what is your point?"

Dummy runs a hand through his dark buzz cut, frustration in every twitch of muscle. "Look, Stark," he sighs. "I don't want to cause problems, but people there were waiting for you, and the least you could have done was gone to get your chunk of glass and go home."

"I didn't even realize that much time had passed," Jarvis says honestly. "Bambi gave me a few hours' warning, but you know how much I can do in a few hours, and..."

"Next time," Dummy promises, "I'll call you."

That cracks a smile. "Thanks, Dummy."

"No problem, Jarv. Your award is on the coffee table upstairs, by the way," Dummy adds, wandering over to PEPP-R and RHOD-E at their charging stations. "Are the bots up?"

"No, don't, they're a tragedy," TONY says immediately. "RHOD-E is such a funsucker, you wouldn't believe -"

"Uh huh," Dummy says, running a hand over PEPP-R's main support strut. "And your girlfriend?"

"Sweet and perfect as ever," TONY says promptly, "but colluding with RHOD-E."

"Trouble in paradise?" Dummy asks with a smirk as the bot whirs to life beneath his fingers. The sound from the workshop's speakers can only be described as a scoff.

"Please, the two of us are great, aren't we, honey?"

PEPP-R looks up at the ceiling and shakes her claw, high pitched squeaks and chirps clearly emphasizing her point.

"Ouch, Pep," TONY says, sounding hurt, "don't hold back, now, I can take it. Jesus." More chirping. "You're really going for the kill, aren't you, I think we may need relationship counseling so we can figure out what your problem is - I do not!"

Dummy bursts out laughing.

"Obie wants me to go to Afghanistan." The words leave his mouth unbidden and he winces as the room goes quiet.

"I say no," TONY says instantly. They've had this argument before. "It's a war zone, J."

"TONY's right," Dummy says, dropping back into seriousness. He frowns. "What'll you do there?"

"It's just a live demo," Jarvis sighs, "for the new missile system. Go in, talk, blow up a mountain, get out. Magbe a few drinks along the way." He closes the blueprint files. "The flight is tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" TONY demands, outraged. "Since fucking when?! That is not on your schedule."

"Language, you rude little robot," Jarvis chides half heartedly. "I don't really want to go."

"Afraid you'll tan?" Dummy teases. Jarvis rolls his eyes.

"You're just jealous I don't have freckles."

"Maybe."

"Oh my science, it is on your schedule. Got updated ninety-four seconds ago."

"Oh my science, Tones?" Dummy snorts.

"And so now it's official, J," TONY says, ignoring him in favor of continuing. "You've got a Stark Industries plane to leave LA at oh-nine-hundred hours. It's a three-day trip, it looks like. Two days for travel, one day on land. It'll be hot." The disapproval is clear in his tone. "At least you'll have a big military escort. Dummy, your name is on it."

"Is it?" Dummy asks, surprised. Jarvis heaves a sigh.


End file.
